


Ice Cream Guy

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: Delsin and The Tagger Girl [1]
Category: inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Breast Play, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fingering, Food Kink, Friends to Lovers, In Public, Smutember 2017, i'd vandalize walls with delsin, ice cream and smoke, just saying, nipple sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: Delsin’s procured you both some free ice cream. Nothing better, right? >:DA/N: For the Smutember 2017 challenge (https://smutember.tumblr.com/post/164308887575/announcing-smutember-smutember-is-a-multifandom)See tags for warnings.





	Ice Cream Guy

The rattle and ping-fucking-ping of the spray can is soothing even while Delsin tries to ruin your mood. He was always like this at the beginning of the week. Talking nonstop about bullshit that didn’t matter out here in the city. If he wanted to stress over tribe politics he came to Seattle - crashed on your couch - and took your around the city to tag any and everything. A part of you hates that on top of being a friend, you're also somehow his therapist. Maybe that’s harsh though, because this is Seattle and no one cares about the Akomish people, so he is free-er than normal to say what he wants without looking over his shoulder every six minutes.

He edges along the alley wall, frowning with unconcealed boredom, getting closer as he talks and talks and talks and oh - the jerk’s doing it on purpose now.

“If you want me to blast you in the face or something, just say it, Delsin,” you smirk, rattling the number-eleven sunshine yellow spray can beside your hip. “I can make you look like Big Bird if you don’t vamoose your caboose.”

“Hmp,” he snorts, “No thank you. I like my rugged, rusty good looks more than piss-colored plumage.”

“Well,” you cut your eyes to the side, “park your ass over there before you get a mouthful, Smoke Guy.”

His body deflates like some neglected teenager - decorated arms hanging limply at his jean-clad thighs. Delsin rolls his eyes with an obnoxious groan before spinning against the wall, cursing you and your ancestors until he’s a safe distance from a gush of yellow paint.

“Jeesh, if you were a dude and I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me” he smirked, folding his arms over his stomach until the veins under his dusky skin bulged. You blink, ignoring his intentional display as the paint fumes start floating up your nose.

“Girls can spray stuff in your mouth too, ya know.”

“Gross…” he comments jadedly, and then after feigning a look out at the trees growing over from Thornton Creek park, rolls his gaze to you with a wide grin, “sounds sorta hot actually. You wanna put stuff in my mouth, baby?”

“I’ll pass,” you reply evenly, filling in the taped stencil before tearing it off to reveal a corporate Pacman gobbling a line of multicolored sheep. Not your best work, but it’s better than whatever cat power thing Delsin had done that morning.

“Not too shabby,” he comments, kicking off the wall to scuff his sneakers in the cement ground. With little to no flare, he twists at the hips and throws an arm around your shoulders.

Sometimes, despite your best efforts, you want to shove something in his mouth, if just to shut him up for a few minutes. Why was it that he only crashed with you when he was in a particularly obnoxious mood? Did you scream little sister material or something?

With a side eye you look down at your open collar, noting the cleavage and bare, paint-spackled legs that guys said were pretty sleek. No, he was too much of a casual flirt with everyone else to hang around you for any other reason than you were ‘the little sister he never had.’

“Well, I think we can both agree it’s better than your pussy,” you remark, feeling his laugh before hearing it; warm and moist on the side of your head.

“We need to untwist your panties, cause you, my fellow delinquent, are cranky - real cranky. I think some ice cream might turn that frown upside down.”

His big, hard fingers clench around your shoulder, hugging you firm and quick before turning you around to face the street, devoid of traffic after the morning commute. Being unemployed and always up to illegal shenanigans, you didn’t have anywhere particular to be, so allowed Delsin to walk you onto the sidewalk and down to Gerhart street where you were pretty sure was an ice cream vendor that never ever had any customers.

He was serious about the ice cream, which meant he wasn’t gonna reach down your pants and tug on your underwear anytime soon. That was fine by you, at least that’s what you told yourself. Whatever, you thought, blushing as the stiff hem of his jean vest kept grazing your hip through your loose shirt. The press of the metal chain wrapped around his wrist like the world's most try-hard bracelet even felt… weird - in a good way.

“We’re not really getting ice cream because I said you had a pussy are we?”

He grinned. “Totally. When I’m here you need to be stress-free and chill,” Delsin's voice was different now that you both were on the sidewalk, passing by commuters and the average, mindless citizens. Everyone still saw him as the hero when they stopped to look, and he was pretty adamant about being approachable. Although, he wasn’t gonna get any tail with his arm around you like this...

“I need you to be all sunshine and rainbows, and man… when I was a kid, ice cream always made me feel better.”

“Delsin,” you tried, shrugging him off until he play-punched your shoulder and gave you a mock air kiss, “ugh… what’s with the little kid shit? I’m an adult if it’s not clear enough for you.”

“Yeah, but have you seen how tiny you are? You’re like,” he paused to blow a stray skinny lock of black hair off his temple, “a miniature person and those are usually called kids.”

“But I’m not-”

Delsin shushed you with a paint-sticky finger rubbing on your mouth and chin, “Ah’ah’ah, you are to speak only when spoken to, little girl.”

This shit was stupid, you thought, slapping his arm down - the reek of spray paint was even more potent now and his casual flare and ridiculous baby talk were somehow getting to you. Also, you realized that you really wanted some fucking chocolate ice cream now and you hadn’t even had breakfast yet. He knew you too well, the bastard.

The little stall on the corner of Fifteenth Ave. was grimy, rattling with cold condensation that stained the sidewalk a gross brown. The old guy manning it smiled; bushy grey mustache curving upwards.

You hung off to the side, scratching dried paint stains off your fingers as Delsin ordered up two soft-serve cones with all the charm of a man who eradicated D.U.P. and, did he mention ‘save the city?’ Sometimes you forget about that because as heroic as he could be, and despite how often he liked to use it to get free stuff and pussy, he was too down-to-earth to act like a real superman all the time.

You watch him with a narrowed look, but he doesn’t pay for the creamy heaps of intense sweetness. Of course, you think, smirking at the smooth play while he grins like a real suave fucker - both cones balancing in one big caramel hand - and shakes the old man’s hand like some campaigning politician.

You skip across the street, holding the hem of your shirt close at the gust of wind as he catches up to you with twin cones and one devilish grin.

“Chocolate for the little girl,” he says shittily, still smirking as you take the already melting treat out of his hand with a roll of your eyes.

The slight graze of his fingertips against your knuckles is hotter than it should be and if you were more spatially aware, you might have realized he’d sent a little extra heat out on purpose. But you’re oblivious, and the little kid comments only make you feel less physically appealing to him as you suck and lick your tasty treat on the way to Thornton Creek park.

No one would be there at this time of day, and the oak trees hadn't been trimmed back since D.U.P. got flushed from Seattle so there are delightful blocks of shade and thick branches to block out the wind and sunshine.

As you suspected, the small dash of green in the gunmetal grey of Seattle’s ant farm is deserted. There’s a nice little bench with little to no rain from the night before in an alcove of oak hangings evergreen bushes. With a loud huff, you fall into the seat and smile.

Alright, you think, licking away a melting patch of chocolate, Delsin has been right. You won’t admit it, but the sweet treat is making you feel a little less like strangling him. As you get most of the dribbling chocolate off the edge of your cone with the flat of your tongue, you don’t notice Delsin staring or how his vanilla starts melting over the back of his hand.

“So, the weather last night, huh? That was some sparkly stuff wasn’t it?”

After another ice cream tongue bath, you lick your lips and look up at him with an arched brow. Weather talk? What is he now, sixty? - just a few minutes ago he was acting like a stupid sixteen-year-old.

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re trying to troll me or if you actually want to talk about shit like that,” you muse, leaning back with an arm thrown over the damp wooden bench; sucking the top of the iced cream absentmindedly. If half the tree weren’t shedding, the park would be beautiful this time of day.

“... you need to get laid if you’re still grouchy after free ice cream.”

You shrug, ignoring the boyish chuckle and charming smile you’re sure he’s just dying to show you. With an edge of sarcasm, you tell him, “Thanks for saving me two bucks, Smoke Guy.”

“Ah, there we go! Hey, at least you’re not calling me Banner Man, that shit was so lame,” he sounds so happy it’s almost frustrating, “I’m way too amazing for shitty nicknames like that.”

“Yeah, well… at least no one calls you ‘little girl’ so be thankful for that I guess.”

“Oh, c’mon! You can’t still be butthurt over that,” he whines, albeit in a manly way that makes you blush again. How can he be so fucking charming while also being annoying as fuck - it makes no sense.

“Look,” Delsin slides into the bench beside you, so fast that traces of smoke linger behind him like a trail of headlights at night. You freeze as his breath heats your face, “I’m sorry, alright. You’re a looker, not a little girl. Forgive me?”

He smiles, toothy and genuine and handsome and those almond eyes crinkle above his hooked nose, and you don’t realize you’ve been staring slack-jawed until your ice cream glides over your knuckles and lands right, smack-dab between your tits.

You shriek, feeling your cheeks go red hot while frozen, sticky chocolate soaks in your cleavage, melting down through the front clasp of your bra. It touches the warm skin of your stomach, and you make a squeaky sound as your hands clash with Delsin’s, trying and failing to scoop the fast melting treat out of your clothes.

“Holy shit-“ he growls as you squirm, “h-hold still!

You lift your shirt away from your skin, whimpering with one hand laid flat over your sticky chest as Delsin - hand inside the front or your shirt - digs his forearm between your breasts and scoops the half melted pile of cold cream off your stomach.

“I got it!” He shouts, looking oddly red in the cheeks and stares from the melted chocolate in his palm to you; eyes locked and open wide like he’s staring at a second head growing from your forehead.

“-shit…” he breathes, staring at some spot on your chin where you're kind of fucking sure a fresh chocolate stain is.

“That,” you start, voice dying under the weird way his eyes suddenly lower, lids falling half close over your messy skin and askew shirt collar. That was definitely not a look a guy gave a girl he thought of as a little sister.

“This is so your fucking fault, Delsin,” you grumble, trying to replace the sudden, inappropriately timed flush of arousal he’s mixing in your stomach because this is the wrong time and place if he… if…

It’s breathtaking - as in, Delsin takes your breath away - when he leans in and kisses you, looking weak-willed and hungry just before pressing his lips to yours.

Though it might have been surprising at any other time or with anyone else, it’s somehow not now. It makes sense after all this time. What had seemed like friendly jabs and moderate annoyances were obviously flirtations. He’d been testing your waters, and you’d given him back frustration, but he’s kissing you now.

He tastes like the vanilla soft-serve and something smoky; spicy too.

All you can taste is him even with the memory of all that sweet chocolate on your tongue because Delsin doesn’t do anything half-assed. You’ve seen him flirt with girls before, even saw him make out with one after a paint party, but this isn’t like that. His kisses are fast and frenzied, thick and wet as if he’s… as if he’s eating you.

His cold, sticky hand cups your neck, tightens and bends you back; opening you up. The fact that he’s making you even messier doesn’t really matter because you're already covered in ice cream anyways and those lips of his are not dry.

“Del-” you whimpered, cut off by another desperate suck of his lips.

You sigh, tilt your lips to the side and wrap a fist in the slack of his denim vest, tugging him in as hard as he does you; palm on the back of your neck. His hot tongue swipes inside your mouth, tasting your own wet muscle before smacking his lips to yours and licking at the chocolate stains on your lower lip and chin and further down…

With Delsin running hard, flat licks up your neck and around the sticky residue left by his hand, you open your eyes, hazy in the desolate park. For a long moment, you’d forgotten where you were. There isn’t a single person here, and it makes you feel sorta lucky, being unemployed and all, just to have this sense of privacy. It kinda feels like only you and Delsin exist in a world where everyone just sorta vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Smoke,” you mouth, half whispering and half moaning as his lips seal and suck your pulse point with a husky groan, “... you planning on cleaning me off with your tongue, Banner Man?”

Delsin chuckles, making your blood vibrate before his kisses smack and slurps just over your collarbone where the real mess begins, “I dunno, I was thinking about it. I’m kinda just going with the flow, to be honest.”

His tongue flicks inside the still slick mess of sweetness before sliding his hand off your neck to rest just at the back of your ribs. Below your throat, you can feel him smile, “When I woke up this morning I didn’t think I’d finally be getting you wet.”

You can’t help the giggle that tumbles past your lips.

“I wouldn’t call this wet,” you joke, “more like sticky.”

Delsin groans, bumping his forehead against your clavicle - nose bruising your sternum, “You can’t just let me have this, can you?”

“I dunno… you’ve got a lot right now.”

Because he’s a daredevil and thinks he’s hot shit, not just in the literal sense, Delsin runs his palms down your arms and presses his thumbs against the sides of your tits until the crease of your cleavage cups his chin. Shit, you think, feeling slightly embarrassed but mostly turned on - like, really turned on actually. He knows it too, because his tongue dips between the pressed globes, dragging up the coating of melted ice cream with a throaty moan.

“Yeah, but… you think you’ll let me have some more?” he asks, sounding like the smoke his fingers begin leaking against your breasts, “I’d be honored to show you how much of a woman this handsome devil thinks you are.”

You roll your eyes. More? - you think, swallowing another loud sound as his lips start to suck gently along the swell of soft tit. He’s still looking up at you, trying to give you that smolder he’s so good at throwing at the ladies. You didn’t think you’d be someone who fell for it, and yet here you are.

As the breeze tosses a few maple leaves down, you survey the park, blush and do something super dumb that you’ll regret the instant someone sees you.

“For the record, this is so reckless,” you tell him with an eye on the park entrance and your fists in the sticky material of your top.

Delsin’s hands shake when you tug your loose shirt down your shoulders, exposing the chocolate stained pink cream of your bra. His palms rest around your ribs, holding tight, tugging your chest up towards his mouth  - spine bending - and starts sucking the exposed cleavage with hungry, muffled sounds. It’s so innocent compared to some of your super dirty fantasies involving him. Even when his tongue wedges between cotton and wet skin, trailing close to a puffy nipple, it’s so less perverted than the dream you had of him last week.

The lazy kisses, sloppy licks, and noisy sucks eventually build up in your stomach, making your skin flush and breath go shallow. Delsin knows how it affects you, it’s sorta obvious, but he seems to think he’s being astute by hooking a thumb in the cup of your bra. Sneaky, you think, letting him imagine he's so as his tongue dips beneath the cup of your bra. His finger tugs and fresh air grazes your nerve endings.

Your nipples tighten at the close - yet too distant - drag of his tongue. Damn him, even now he’s trying to be a pain in the ass. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you now.

“Not the time to tease me, Delsin,” you pant, pulling at the lapels on his vest, smashing his face into the soft flesh of your left breast until he chuckles. His teeth nip against your skin and, finally, he yanks your bra down until your nipples pop free.

The relief and pleasure you feel when he finally slurps one stiff peak inside his mouth nearly makes you say something really nasty and really loud. One bite to your lower lip holds it in, but Delsin isn’t being slow and teasing anymore. His teeth drag and tongue swirls, curling and pulling the taut bud back into his mouth for a firm suck.

You gasp and tense, ending up pressed back on the park bench with Delsin leaning over you, lips skimming from one red peak to the next; cleaning it of any rich chocolate stains.

The leaves overhead bristle, throwing the smell of wet fall into the air as the scent of artificial chocolate and spit leaves your head dizzy. Delsin’s sticky palm squeezes the wet heat of your saliva-coated breast as he grunts and groans, slurping and sucking you raw.

“... fuck,” you whimper, watching the empty park with its speckled morning lights running over the pathways, dusted with fallen leaves. Moist fleshy sounds coast along the pleasure his mouth brings to your tender buds - it leaves you feeling even more sticky than before, but you don’t give a fuck anymore.

“Shit,” he pants, tugging a nipple between his thumb and a curled forefinger, “... I can’t tell what’s you and what’s the chocolate anymore.”

Smoke billows off his digits, but the heat it releases is soothing rather than burning. The conduit powers make this, even more, hotter than it already most surely is.

You gulp, rolling your eyes down at him as the sounds of traffic honk past the wall of leaves, “I’m not - not sure how much more of this I can handle… to be honest.”

“Right,” he intones, looking from your shiny naked breasts back to the empty park. You already know what he’s about to ask before he opens his mouth again.

“No… fuck no-“

“C’mon…” he whines; spit making his lips shiny.

“No,” you tell him again, fighting his hands as he starts going for your belt buckle - it’s half play and half fight for him, but you're totally serious. Getting caught with your tits out on the park bench is one thing but with your pants down? Fuck that.

“It won't take long, I know what I’m doing down there,” Delsin tries - fingers hooked in the hem of your jean shorts - flicking his tongue between his teeth in a super unsubtle manner.

“I don’t care - not fucking happening.”

He looks crestfallen, almost sad enough you reconsider but no… you’re not gonna let Delsin Rowe, Banner Man and Smoke Guy go down on you in the middle of Thornton fucking Creek park.

“What about if I just use my fingers,” he asks, grinning that rakish grin and wiggles his crackling, smoking fingers in your face.

Okay, so… maybe that’ll work.

Your interest and approval must show on your face because Delsin smirks, plants an elbow by your head like he’s about to say ‘I told you so’ or some bullshit like that but instead he unbuckled your belt with one hand and slips his smoldering hand down the front of your shorts.

“Keep an eye out for me, ice cream girl?” he goads, baring his teeth in a dangerous grin before dipping his mouth back down to the tender bead of your nipple; fingers wedging under the damp cotton underwear to the soaked folds beneath.

“... ok-okay… okay, fuck,” you inhale and hiss, let one leg fall off the bench; heel on the pavement as Delsin paints your tits in saliva and rubs your clit with two fast fingers. Smoke pours around your mound, sticking to the wetness and leaking out the front of your jeans. You see it out the corner of your eye while watching the park entrance with wild, feverish eyes.

There’s something about the pleasure from his lips plucking at your nipple and the denser sensation from his fingers that blends together - it feeds off each other until you’re already fast through the first tickles of an orgasm.

This is crazy - he’s insane, and you’re just as bad, you realize.

Delsin swallows your flesh, beats his tongue over your nipple until the sharp twinge of bliss runs straight down your belly, right down between your legs. With your boot braced on the ground, you fill your fists with the loose strands of his hair, catching the soft heft of his beanie in your thumbs and roll your hips down, cumming.

Your legs twitch, fingers flex and clench, mouth hanging open in a wordless cry. The orgasm is liquid heat; warmer than a blanket right out the dryer. It’s soft and long, and Delsin’s lips smirk around your breast, fingers slowing but rolling you through the peak. A part of you hates how good he is at this - how fast you came and how he knows he’s got the magic touch. You’d find a reason to be jealous of all the other girls he’s fingered, but reality feels way too nice right now to worry about -

“Shit!” You slap your hand over his cheeky looking face and shove his lips off your bare breasts as a couple with their poodle walk through the trellis at the park entrance. People! - with eyes and holy fucking shit!

“Oh, shit,” Delsin mimics, tugging his wet fingers out your shorts, helping you lift your shirt back up over your bouncing tits until you both are sitting still, on the bench…

You narrow your eyes as a thin trail of lingering smoke rolls out of your lap as the unsuspecting people and their dog walk past. Beside you, Delsin snorts, barely containing the laugh that he’s gonna bust out when you're both alone again. Scratch that, he doesn’t wait.

With your cheeks on fire - your cunt slippery and tits hanging under your thin, gooey shirt, Delsin bends over and laughs until you think he’s about to puke vanilla.

“I’m gonna bury your dick in ice cream,” you threaten lamely, deflating when he just laughs all the louder.

Three weeks later, you and Delsin have graduated to ‘regulars’ at the Ice Cream Stand on grimy Fifteenth Ave. If only that old dude knew what you guys were doing with his soft serve… he'd fucking die...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I've wanted to write Delsin since I finished Second Sons and this was a good excuse. If you have the time, please let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Big thanks to Darth Fucamus for reading this over for me. <3
> 
>  
> 
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